


Five Times Hydra Won at Mind-Fucking + One Time They Didn't

by trailingviolets



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Five Times Cliche, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hydra-ish Dugan, Letters, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingviolets/pseuds/trailingviolets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky get messed with in a tragic way + the eventual triumph we've all been waiting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Hydra Won at Mind-Fucking + One Time They Didn't

_We can go home. Imagine it._

Peggy spoke smoothly, but Steve wasn't convinced. He kept looking around, hope fading fast. Then it all disappeared, and he knew. 

After Barton snapped him out of it, ever cautious of swinging arms and unexpected injuries, Steve could be heard muttering to himself, "But he's not here."

"What's that, buddy?" Clint longed to call Natasha over, only to be reminded that she was in rare form, too, shaking and tapping out morse code on her leg.

"Peggy, not without him!" Steve started to cry, hacking up the poison of a fucked-up mind game Clint thanked his lucky stars for escaping. 

Tony came forward, putting an iron hand on Barton's shoulder. Speaking under his breath, so even the rest of the team couldn't hear.

"He means his friend, Bucky." Clint stared back in horror.

"It's true. He put...he put the plane down on purpose. To save lives, but on purpose. He didn't want to live without Barnes." Tony patted his shoulder pityingly, as if it was common knowledge to everyone but Barton, how Captain-fucking-America was _gay_.

Steve continued to shiver, prostrate on the ground, repeating over and over, "It's not home. It's not home without him, I can't move on. The war, he's dead!"

Clint looked back at Tony, but he only shook his head. "I'll call Sam once we regroup."

***

_The man on the bridge...the man on the bridge...._

"...but I knew him." Smiling, just the slightest. A memory falling into his mind of a fire escape, lights in the sky. Two boys and no room between them, staring at the stars, one of them saying...

"Prep him," and walking away.

_Buck, come 'ere! You're peasant this time, and I'm king. And you have to do whatever I say, no matter what. If I ask you to kiss me, you have to do it._

Rumlow reacted first, slowing aiming down his rifle once the Soldier was seated and strapped. 

"Let me tell you a little story about the man on the bridge," he leered. Bucky leaned away from his harsh breath, finding no room to squirm. "The man on the bridge was Captain America. He was friends with you, when you were kids. Little Steve Rogers."

"Stevie!-" Bucky yelped, and Rumlow yanked his head back. 

"-Don't interrupt me, do you understand?" The hand strung through his hair forced Bucky to nod like a puppet.

"As I was saying, Little  _Stevie_ idolized you. Dare I say it, he _loved_ you. That is until Zola got hold of the Commandos. Then Little Stevie wasn't so little anymore, and he left you behind."

"He wouldn't..." Bucky felt panicked, on the verge of screaming. Needing to release whatever was begging to be known in him. Hoping if he set himself free, he'd understand what it was that had been so damn important to remember.

"Oh but he did. He left you for dead in the Alps, sweetheart. He left you for us once when you were whole, what do you think he'd do with a mentally-retarded, one-armed cripple?"

"He'd...he'd want me to come home."

"Wrong answer, _Bucky_. Try again." Rumlow pushed fingers against his throat, so he could only manage to choke out what was approved.

"I-he'd throw me away?"

"What's that?"

"He'd throw me away," Bucky croaked, "because I'm broken and I don't belong."

"That's right." Rumlow let go of him, stepping back to ease the STRIKE rifle from his shoulder, crack his neck. 

"Agent, do we have protocol?" The tech's voice sounded tired, coming from the sheltered side of the metal bars. 

Rumlow winked over his shoulder at the Asset, issuing cold orders in a tone that betrayed nothing of their exchange. 

"Wipe him. Three times is the charm. No breaks."

_The man on the bridge...I knew Steve...I knew...Steve..._

***

_Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._

"Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?" Muscular men pulled in a classic kill huddle, among them the shadiest of his STRIKE team. Whispering back and forth like they'd met their crushes in the hallway. 

_And they thought he wasn't gonna figure it out?_

Steve thought he knew pain, until Rumlow jammed the buzzing stick between his shoulder blades. Afterwards, Steve would hesitate to say he knew as much as his own name. Dizzy and gnawed-away by spire-sharp pain. 

Forced to treat a glass window like a door, fall thirty odd floors, and pull hand-to-hand combat with an assassin wearing his best friend's face; Steve wasn't having the greatest 21st century experience.

Not to mention, apprehended by SHIELD-as-Hydra, unable to grasp at a getaway for at least a few minutes. 

_In hindsight, that had to be the point._

Feeling Rumlow against his side, whispering in a tone harshened by breathlessness, "You know, he remembered you. Your buddy, your pal. Your Bucky."

Turned to face his captors by the butt of a rifle, seeing Rumlow's sick smirk that could light a street corner red with evil.

"Don't worry, we set him straight. He was so fucking strong for you, it'd break your heart. But we got him, with the magnetic cuffs, and the hand tasers. I wish you could've been there. Imagine how much it must've hurt."

Rumlow paused for emphasis, Steve standing rooted to the spot, still burning from his own brush with Hydra torture. 

"And when that was over, we wiped him. _Eight times_. Blood started coming out of his ears around number four, but he soldiered on. He was such a good little trouper for Stevie Rogers, his hero. Set a record for you, nobody else has ever survived that much buzz before. By the end, we could've told him you wanted him to bash his own brains out, and he would've happily done it."

Even as Natasha escorted him away, screaming, "Wake the fuck up!" as they ran, Steve couldn't let go of the image provided.

Bucky suffering, and being twisted so far out of alignment that he suffered for the memory of a memory long forgotten.

"Nat, they're gonna kill him. They're gonna kill him to spite me. We have to go back." She turned with a flip of hair, glinting eyes betraying little fear.

"No, they're not. Use your brain." A silence elapsed between them, covered only by the hum of the ventilation of the building above.

Natasha sighed, knowing she'd have to spell it out.

"Would they let him go after this long?"

"Should I?"

***

"You should take leave." Bucky stopped scrubbing himself long enough to cast a glare in Dugan's direction.

"And why the fuck would I be inclined to do that?"

"Cause Captain America's here now, buddy. No need to stay when he's ready to take over and lead the Allies to victory for you."

Dugan adjusted the water to within an inch of ice, managing to get under Bucky's skin so thoroughly his teeth began to chatter. 

"Steve doesn't know shit about war." Neglecting to add, he'd hoped to keep it that way, once.

"Captain America ain't the same man with the same problems," he leaned in as if to grab the soap, "and you forget, he ain't your friend anymore."

Bucky raised his hand as if to smash it into Dugan's face, but stopped just short. Hearing a familiar voice in his head say,  _I don't like bullies._

"No, _you_ forget. He was born Steve Rogers, and he'll die Steve Rogers. I know who that is. And it's not a goddamn cartoon character." Dugan backed away, hands raised, laughing softly to himself.

All the while aware that Steve was paused at the entrance to the showers, listening and waiting his turn.

"Just think about it, Sarg. You don't exactly seem fighting fit."

When Steve entered a full minute later, Bucky busied himself toweling off, offering a watery smile in greeting.

"Hey, stranger," Steve returned, fondly rippling a hand across his shoulders. Never imagining how those words would echo across the years.

_I know who that is. I know._

"Come here, punk, let me wash your back."

Later, after the water ran cold again, Bucky thought he heard Steve whisper a "thank you" behind his back. 

***

"What do you mean, there's a letter?" Steve was only halfway through his cheerios, and not in a conversational mood.

"In the jacket, from when he fell. Apparently Hydra stripped him before he could hide it," she held a hand over the receiver, waiting for his response. Thinking, it was a good thing he didn't know how to answer his cellphone yet. 

"I'll fly back tomorrow, _thank you_." Natasha watched as he pushed his cereal around, at a loss for what to say. He'd handed her the phone, and she wasn't even sure if she'd hung up yet. 

"His family all dead?"

"Yup."

"Was it addressed to you?"

"Yup."

They went back to eating breakfast in silence.

"So originally they redacted it, around 1952. But those marks have faded, and our lab can scrub layers until it looks like it did in the 40's."

"Have you?"

"The scan is on its way, Captain Rogers."

Tony offered to fly back from their mission with him, but both agreed it was best that Iron Man stay. So he'd settled for FaceTime, which tragically had to be set up by someone other than Steve. Natasha had lovingly introduced him that morning to a thing called _webcam_ , before reluctantly handing him his boarding pass. She'd kissed a Russian blessing into his cheek, then walked back down the hallway to their makeshift training room. 

"Ask them if they have any idea what it might contain."

"Tony, I think I might already-"

He was cut off by mid-sentence by the appearance of a bevy of lab techs, still wearing rubber gloves as they set a mountain of paperwork before him. 

Two hours later, Steve was led to a private room and given two sheets of official Smithsonian stationary. 

"That's the official public briefing on what it contains." He stared down at the sterile paper, fatally underwhelmed.

"Um, it's great you have a cover story, but can I just read it?" Two of the younger looking professionals exchanged glances, but the director nodded.

"Of course, be with you in a moment."

Twenty minutes later, they reappeared with a yellowed billfold that fit in the palm of Steve's hand.

"We're going to give you some privacy," the director stage-whispered, ushering his assistants away.

On the screen in front of Steve, Tony shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, I need moral support as much as you need to know what he wrote, Stark." His words lost their bite when accompanied by shaking hands.

Just the crinkling of the paper brought tears to his eyes; it was a sound they shared, now, despite all the years between them.

_Stevie,_

_I've got about ten minutes before you come back from watch to fetch me. I'm gonna pretend to be asleep, like I always do, so you'll curl up around me, like you always do. It's the only time I've got away from you to write, and the luck of that is still something big. We almost lost you so many nights I forgot how to love the winter._

_There's nothing I can say to ease your mind. Wherever I am, it's probably empty, and very quiet. That's what I experienced at Zola's hand; he took me and made me into someone who loved the darkness for its lacking._

_All I can say, and all I will say, is that I loved you. In all your colors, for all your bravery, every day. You left me with no choice but to love you, you were so fucking beautiful, and for that I am my proudest._

_Thank you, Stevie. You rescued and challenged me. Because of you, I got another life, one I spent fighting for the freedom of a world you get to see._

_It makes me so happy, Stevie, that you're safe in the future where nothing can touch you._

_It's enough that you'll marry Peggy and take her home to Brooklyn. That you'll have kids together. It's what you deserve._

_'Til the end of the line,_

_Bucky_

"I thought you said it was marked as sensitive government material?" Tony jumped in, trying not to let his shock show through.

"There's another page," Steve whispered.

_Man on the Bridge,_

_i know you._

_i think they said you were a Captain._

_was i in the army with you, and we were at the top of a mountain?_

_if they find out i was in the American army they'll wipe me. i don't want to be wiped, but they tell me it's for the greater good._

_i don't know if i believe them, but if i try to escape they say no one will want me._

_i think that's true._

_Mr. Rumlow says it so often, it has to be. he's the one who gave me paper._

_i asked him if i could write down my mission logins, and he said yes._

_he scares me._

_sometimes i get the thought that i want to go home but i don't know where that comes from._

_he said i can't ever go home because i don't have one anymore._

_said that everyone i knew is dead._

_but you're not dead yet?_

_is Bucky me?_

_did you know me?_

_i feel like i miss you, like i liked seeing your face, but i don't know why._

_Mr. Pierce said that i died trying to pick up a shield i wasn't worthy of to protect a person who loved someone else._

_he said i died and hail hydra brought me back as a machine._

_but if i'm a machine, why do i bleed when they hit me?_

_he said it's better to be a machine, that they saved me._

_i don't think so._

_i'd rather be a person, even a person who died for someone who loved someone else._

_Mr. Rumlow said i gotta go, but i don't want to. i want to stay here and think about you._

_he said Steve will see me again soon._

_are you Steve? if you're Steve i think i want to tell you i love-_

 

Tony started to speak, but was cut off by Steve on the other end.

"Give it a minute," he muttered, furiously wiping tears. Not wishing for anyone to bear witness, but desperately longing not to be _so_ alone.

"Why does it look old, if he just wrote it?" He tried, after Steve had successfully buried the worst of his feelings for later.

"They found it in his mission uniform, not the original one they displayed. Rumlow must've purposefully snuck it in, with the other letter. He must've been the one who donated the jacket."

"That bastard."

"Rumlow was doing Hydra's job," Steve said woodenly, "Better he decide to hurt me than Bucky."

"Did you love him, too?"

Steve straightened to stare directly into Tony's eyes across five thousand miles of tangled wire. 

"Look, fuck all the assassin crap. He was just a smiley kid from Brooklyn. I'll never get over how he was prepared to die for me, _twice_. What they did to him. I swear to fucking god, I loved him since I was five. I pushed him out of the way, on the train...and I landed the plane in the ice on purpose. There was no white picket fence after Bucky, you know? How was I supposed to leave him behind? He was my, my-"

The director reappeared in the doorway. "Captain Rogers?"

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"Me and a couple of the other staff members would like to offer you a tour of your exhibit with Sgt. Barnes and the Commandos." She gave both Tony and Steve a sad smile.

"Yes, please."

***

"Whatever you're trying to steal, I don't have it," Steve felt foolish enough as it was, living in a rich neighborhood. In Brooklyn, shit like this only happened to people passing through with a wad of money under their mattress. 

The intruder went dead silent, something of a giveaway to a fellow spy. Steve tried a different approach, something softer.

"Really, if you're that hungry, you can come rummage through my fridge. I won't rat on you." The man stepped closer, still well out of reach, but the lighter nuances of hope weren't lost on Steve. He closed his eyes, mentally searching.

"There's hot chocolate, in the pantry. I don't drink it, but I have a friend who does, so it's for him."

Again, a step closer. Steve's breath went shallow.

"He wrote me a letter, a while ago, saying someone told him he didn't have a home."

Steve sensed Bucky's muscles tightening in fear, waiting to be exposed. 

"I just wanted him to know, if he ever came here, that it was all bullshit. That without him, there's nothing. That I want him to come home."

Bucky hesitated, creeping tentatively towards the light.

Covered in fast-melting snow, hair matted down fast, shivering, he stood in Steve's fancy living room with the heated seats and cocooned breakfast nook, waiting for Steve to speak.

"Do you remember, Buck?"

"You used to hold my hand on the fire escape. During the war, you'd sleep pressed to my back."

"You had bad dreams," Steve murmured. 

"Punk," Bucky choked out, and Steve rushed forward, sobbing laughter torn from him by relief. He stripped Bucky's jacket from his shoulders before it could chill him any more, so their embrace was bare-chested and real. 

"Only a jerk would get caught in the snow," Steve admonished, and they grinned together for all the times he'd done so before, on workdays and bar nights.

The same response that had finally led him back, an inkling of a memory.  _Steve is waiting, I'd better hurry._

Wrapping Bucky in nothing but a blanket and leading him to the kitchen, where they'd make pancakes and spike their drinks with amaretto, Steve couldn't help but think, _i_ _f only I'd imagined this, when Wanda blanked me. This is home._

***


End file.
